Padding Poems | Examples

Made for this

I want slow mornings,
bread rising in the oven,
little feet padding across the floor,
a Bible open beside my coffee.

I want to home school my children
at the kitchen table with crayons and scripture,
to teach them about fractions
and forgiveness in the same breath,
to let wonder lead the way.

I want to be the wife who lights candles at dinner,
who greets him at the door
with joy in her eyes
and flour still on her hands.

I want worship music to fill the corners of our home,
to raise children who know
what it feels like to dance with joy
and cry in prayer
without shame.

I want a life rooted in presence,
in purpose,
in love that doesn’t hurry.

Not perfect
just real,
just ours,
just holy in the quiet kind of way
most people miss.

Echo's Spiral Inward

An echo is felt, touched, recalled,
it drums against our hearts,
strikes softly upon the ringing
shell of being.

An echo hammers upon an open door,
it is unconcerned with any closeted desires,
it is not ours to interpret.

Echo's image comes to us
wrapped within a blossoming,
an ever-opening vowel of vocalic enticement.

Lily-padding slippers tread lightly
yet step loudly upon the mind.

I welcome all dark flowers,
their language is throb and vibration.
I am awakened by the sensual stem,
pulled up into an erotic drumming,
resounding echo's don, the flesh of myself.

Echo is the face of memory,
it is the naming of names,
Echo returns our call
whether spoken or not.

For a moment we tremble like a leaf
that the wind impartially fondles.

© 33 mins ago

My Body Is My Friend

I stare timidly into the softly lit mirror,
Its gaze staring back at me unrecognizable.
I've been told this person is my friend,
But its reflection paints a different picture.
Its mixture mixes a mess of colors I never thought go together anyway.
A bit ghostly.
I trace its outline carefully -
A bump here, a dent there, extra padding everywhere -
So pathetically unfamiliar to me.
So frightening
   to me....
    To me
       to me
         to me
           to me
Why does no one else seem to see
What I see?
   What I see...
I've been told is my friend.
But friendliness bodes forbidden,
Foreign between the eyes of those destined to be one.
When will I learn my body is my friend?
Who honestly teaches that anyway?
I say honestly purposefully.
   Lies, all lies.
You see it, don't you?
I don't even need to explain for you to know.
That's how low this show has gone.
I need help unmasking and redefining
this 
 festering, 
  fatal 
   phenomenon.

Politics

Politics produces
perplexing paradigms:
people participate,
prefer partisan packs, 
push personalities
padding pockets, preclude
peaceable principles.

Dream Shapes

Cats sleep curled around themselves.

Dogs may sleep on their backs,
paws softly padding the air.

People sleep like children,

their timeless dreams

revealing

when they were born

and when they will die.

In-Dwelt

The apartment leaks footsteps,
it’s hard to avoid their featherweight padding.

Fabric and pith teach
walls how to speak;
fragmented recordings
that always threaten to utter
something intelligible.

Ears question,
closed eyes grope for answers.

They abide --- the indwellers,

they nightly rearrange,
whatever you thought was yours
as you daydream of being real.

The Indwellers

The apartment leaks footsteps.
Ghosts avoid their featherlight padding.

They dwell in the fabric and pith,
teaching the walls to speak;
fragmented recordings
always threatening to utter
something intelligible.

Who are they, what are they?
Such questions
only arise under closed eyes.

They abide

they arrange and restore
whatever you thought was yours
as you dream of being real.

Listening To Snowfall

At night you hear the falling where the air parts
to whisper its apologies.

Only after the snow has touched an eve or ledge
do you hear the settling; hollow sounds speaking
between uncountable flakes
as they collide together
creating muted earthquakes just below the stillness.

Then perhaps you may become aware
of the bushy or hairless tails of ice-scuffling foragers;
the patter of padding paws or claws.

If asked, you’d swear the sky
was crunching the surface of dark waters
but it’s just the sound of a colorless gravity walking.

A Key To Salvation

Yes, I have a problem. That is clear to see. I definitely have a problem, and I think the problem is me. Every time I start to believe that I can change my ways, something outlandish occurs and I go into a fit of rage. It seems as though the heavens prohibit a different feeling than the only one I am often stuck with dealing. Oftentimes it seems they want me to be consumed with resentment and hostility. But why would you let one of your children suffer days in and days out?  I see people who have been suffering for lifetimes, and lifetimes they've gone without. So here I am again on my knees, now with padding. I promise to pray everyday and do your bidding; for mine Is there lacking. I want a better life. I want to be free. I want to break the curse my ancestors put on me. I feel it's a genetic disorder of some sort of irrational way to be. I'm currently locked inside of this demonic bubble and faith holds the key.

Drag Queens

They delight in wearing women’s fancy dresses
Intricate wigs fashioned as highly coifed tresses,
Padding in places gives them feminine curves
Appearing like that would shatter my nerves.

Entertainers par excellence, they can lip-synch
While dancing in a line together all in sync,
Laughing and joking, sometimes in a crude way
One hardly ever sees them in the light of day
Exaggerating in fashion of the highest couture
Experts in the arts, the world of pop culture,
What leads them to take up this type of show
Female impersonation, I guess I’ll never know.

I do admire their abilities, their derring-do --
Becoming sensational entertainers like Mama Ru,
Money in bras, they laugh all the way to the bank
I am happy being a man; I have God to thank! 

Written November 17, 2022

Lover of Mine

Lover of My Age,

Beauty overshadows your Body,
Luring Me to you.

With A clich teeth that Beeps,
overshadowed with fresh breath.

With a scent of pungent,
you strike my virility.

You Loosen My Power,
 with physique of your breath. 

Hold on to me with your suave arms,
never to leave me.
 
Your voice sooths and clings to me,
like a trumpet from afar.

Your Lips ignites Me,
with the grin in it.

Cover me with the warmth of your majesty, they are luscious to me.

Dream of Love sorrounds us,with sighs of wisdom

My Belly is your padding,
that binds you with me.
  
My chest your refuge,
proves of stalwart love.

You cover me with Love,
 that exalts my heart.

With you all is well,
Lover of Mine

With a sweet steep smile,
Destroying my Euphory

Your eyes resembles the sun,
glittering as a sign of beauty.

Your face mirrors my own,pure gleam of beauty.

What a being you are?
Lover of My Heart

The good thief you are,
snatching My Love.


by James Biegon

A New Start For America

Out with infighting and lack of general respect,
Let’s restore our Congressional reputation
Rank partisanship and grandstanding
While padding their own coffers, I expect!

Let’s rid ourselves of all the current trolls
“Let’s throw the bums out,” it has been said,
Not a one of them worth saving, I suspect.
Better off with zombies at the controls.

Let’s start by ditching Mitch; Pelosi, too,
Right down to the bottom of the barrel
Grifters, the shysters, and arrogant fools
Send McCarthy and Schumer to Timbuktu.

Greene, and Gaetz, and dummy Gohmert
Publicity hounds and holier-than-thous
Let’s start with a clean slate this year
Out with Cruz, Cotton, and Lauren Boebert.

Repubs and Dems—all those fat cats alike,
We need to start with a clean slate now
Hire those who will make government run
Let’s tell Madison Cawthorn to take a hike.

All of them! – I’ve just named a very few
But I can’t think of a single one I’d keep,
Clear out the entire House and the Senate
We need to clean up this despicable zoo! 

HONORABLE MENTION
"Religion or Politics No. 7" Poetry Contest
All Poetry.com
April 24, 2022
Written April 9, 2022

Listening To Snowfall

At night you hear the falling,
but only after it has settled
on some eve or ledge;
a parlance between whisper and creak.

Beyond the deaf walls,
listening to the bushy tails of foragers,
the sibilant rustle of padding paws or claws.
Ears overhear the pitter-patter of ice crystals
talking to a windowpane.

Outside in the snow heaps,
fur-clad foragers shovel for shelter.
From swaddled hollows
whiskers sense when you turn in your bed,
a body curls ever tighter
around its incoherent flesh.

Right now – if asked,
you’d swear the sky utters
as the snowfalls,
but it’s just the sound of gravity
walking upon snowflakes,
only the tumble of silence
settling.

To Move Forward, Go Backward

There I stood...bundled up in layers of clothing...
to begin my journey.
As I began to walk down my path...I took off my overcoat...
     as I discovered the sun kept me warm enough.
As I continued down my path...I discovered I no longer needed my hat...
     as the breeze felt nice blowing through my hair.
As I continued down my path...I discovered I no longer needed my shoes
     and socks...as the grass was padding enough for my feet...
          and on I went.
As I continued on my journey...I discovered I no longer needed my heavy
     backpack...which was full of " things" I was sure I would need
          along the way.
I knelt by a clear stream and got a cool drink...
     also eating some fresh blackberries...
          that grew wild along the stream.
To really learn...I needed to unlearn things I was taught.
The more layers I removed...
     the warmer the sun felt upon my skin.
The more silent I was...the more I heard nature speak.
The more I let go of old ways...
     the more free I became...
          the more I am a part of all...instead of set apart from all.



                                         P.R. Deremer

Tibbles the Tortoiseshell Cat

Mottled feline lush smooth fur
Golden eyes and soothing purr
Your fine bushy tail and padding
Gait, you're a living tapestry so
The Colours state' black in circles
Spots of gold then orange drops
With brown in bold! White underbelly and startling socks
Beautiful creature rhythm like my
Clock, up at six you stretch and go
Out to the garden gladly, but not when it Snows; in summer in the
Shade you lay, feigning sleep yet
Ready to play; a mini milk to cool
Your tongue then by evening you’re
A hunter; second to none!

©Joe Maverick 13-5-2021

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